Spin Top - January 6, 2017
I have a spin bike, a florid PINK spin bike - bought with that colour because it was cheaper – in the Arizona room off our trailer. Because the walls of our AZ room are mostly glass, it can get pretty hot in there – even in November. So, I started wearing my faded “Hello Kitty” mini pjs while “spinning,” instead of my usual T shirt and yoga pants. Laurence was not impressed. Said he, “You can see your underwear hanging out of your shorts!” And, truth be told, this set was better suited for a six-year-old than an (almost) 60-year-old.
Laur rarely makes requests of me re my appearance. And I would normally ignore them anyway, but this meant a trip to my favourite sports store – Big One! (Not the real name.) It’s where I buy my running shoes every few months, and, while I never buy anything else there, I marvel at the things they carry. Especially the tasers (stun guns) at the check out counter – but that is another story. (It’s a zinger!)
We went to Big One a few days later and were greeted by a manager – a lovely lad in his 30s, I think. “Can I help you?” he asked. I wanted to say, “We’re beyond help,” but managed to keep my mouth shut, for once. I told him we were just looking around at things and proceeded to the women’s sports wear section. Glory! Athletic stuff for every possible occasion.
Not seeing a female employee around, I walked up to the counter where the lad (I’ll call him Ernest) was working and asked, “Is this an appropriate top for a spin class? I mean a bicycle exercise class?” Ernest looked at me with the helpful but tired eyes of someone who has had to deal with too many snowbirds who think they are athletes, and are about to end up in Emergency. He said kindly, “Mam, I’m former military. I know what a spin class is. And, no mam, that is a bra.”
Oops! I asked, “Couldn’t I wear it as a spin top if I am cycling in my trailer and no one can see me. It’s a “virtual” spin class – it’s on my computer. Except God and maybe my husband if he comes out to the Arizona room? Though I’m not sure why he would except to ask me to turn the music down…” (So much for keeping my mouth shut.)
At this point, Ernest came out from behind the counter and gently led me to a rack of tops that looked like maternity tops with bikini tops inside of them. “This, mam, is our selection of tops suitable for cycling and other types of exercise…” I picked one out. A hideous colour of purple – because it was on sale. Up to the front of the store again.
“Do you have spin shorts?” He smiled patiently, “Yes, mam, we have lycra shorts that are good for exercising in,” and he brought me to a rack of tiny black things that looked more like eye-patches than shorts. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Actually, in the case of the shorts, more likely an ounce – I bought both.
(You may be wondering what Laurence was doing this whole time. He was trying to find a pair of men’s cycling shorts – the kind with padded bottoms that make you look like you are wearing an extra thick pair of Depends incontinence underwear. There’s a hilarious story to be told here, but not by me… J )
The next day was Tuesday – a spin morning. I attempted to put on my top – it was more like trying to assemble a rubix cube. I counted eight holes that I could stick my head into. I put it on and off a half dozen times until I got it front to back, up to down, and bra against skin, and tank top to the outside.
Next the shorts. Oh my goodness, getting them on was workout in and of itself. Normally, I only wear baggy clothing. These were abnormally tight – I actually had to tuck parts of my flesh inside of them, only to have pieces pop out again with any kind of movement.
Eventually my spin clothes and I came to some sort of agreement and a-spinning I did go. You may be wondering if my new outfit improved my performance? Not a chance. I ride slowly and without a lot of resistance and even then, I work up a ton of sweat – which is why I needed a scanty outfit in the first place.
But I did discover one benefit of my two-layered top. When I get really warm, because the straps attach to each other only at the shoulder, I can peel up the front part over my head, and I have an instant cape. With the fans blowing full speed and my cape waving in the wind, my six-year-old self fancies herself being Super Girl! Hey, I’ve even got the blonde hair!
Sadly, my (almost) sixty-year-old self knows I look more like Miss Gulch from the Wizard of Oz. I’ll know for sure if my flesh-and-bones spin instructor, back in St. Catharines, yells out, “Fly, my pretty! Fly!”
Laur rarely makes requests of me re my appearance. And I would normally ignore them anyway, but this meant a trip to my favourite sports store – Big One! (Not the real name.) It’s where I buy my running shoes every few months, and, while I never buy anything else there, I marvel at the things they carry. Especially the tasers (stun guns) at the check out counter – but that is another story. (It’s a zinger!)
We went to Big One a few days later and were greeted by a manager – a lovely lad in his 30s, I think. “Can I help you?” he asked. I wanted to say, “We’re beyond help,” but managed to keep my mouth shut, for once. I told him we were just looking around at things and proceeded to the women’s sports wear section. Glory! Athletic stuff for every possible occasion.
Not seeing a female employee around, I walked up to the counter where the lad (I’ll call him Ernest) was working and asked, “Is this an appropriate top for a spin class? I mean a bicycle exercise class?” Ernest looked at me with the helpful but tired eyes of someone who has had to deal with too many snowbirds who think they are athletes, and are about to end up in Emergency. He said kindly, “Mam, I’m former military. I know what a spin class is. And, no mam, that is a bra.”
Oops! I asked, “Couldn’t I wear it as a spin top if I am cycling in my trailer and no one can see me. It’s a “virtual” spin class – it’s on my computer. Except God and maybe my husband if he comes out to the Arizona room? Though I’m not sure why he would except to ask me to turn the music down…” (So much for keeping my mouth shut.)
At this point, Ernest came out from behind the counter and gently led me to a rack of tops that looked like maternity tops with bikini tops inside of them. “This, mam, is our selection of tops suitable for cycling and other types of exercise…” I picked one out. A hideous colour of purple – because it was on sale. Up to the front of the store again.
“Do you have spin shorts?” He smiled patiently, “Yes, mam, we have lycra shorts that are good for exercising in,” and he brought me to a rack of tiny black things that looked more like eye-patches than shorts. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Actually, in the case of the shorts, more likely an ounce – I bought both.
(You may be wondering what Laurence was doing this whole time. He was trying to find a pair of men’s cycling shorts – the kind with padded bottoms that make you look like you are wearing an extra thick pair of Depends incontinence underwear. There’s a hilarious story to be told here, but not by me… J )
The next day was Tuesday – a spin morning. I attempted to put on my top – it was more like trying to assemble a rubix cube. I counted eight holes that I could stick my head into. I put it on and off a half dozen times until I got it front to back, up to down, and bra against skin, and tank top to the outside.
Next the shorts. Oh my goodness, getting them on was workout in and of itself. Normally, I only wear baggy clothing. These were abnormally tight – I actually had to tuck parts of my flesh inside of them, only to have pieces pop out again with any kind of movement.
Eventually my spin clothes and I came to some sort of agreement and a-spinning I did go. You may be wondering if my new outfit improved my performance? Not a chance. I ride slowly and without a lot of resistance and even then, I work up a ton of sweat – which is why I needed a scanty outfit in the first place.
But I did discover one benefit of my two-layered top. When I get really warm, because the straps attach to each other only at the shoulder, I can peel up the front part over my head, and I have an instant cape. With the fans blowing full speed and my cape waving in the wind, my six-year-old self fancies herself being Super Girl! Hey, I’ve even got the blonde hair!
Sadly, my (almost) sixty-year-old self knows I look more like Miss Gulch from the Wizard of Oz. I’ll know for sure if my flesh-and-bones spin instructor, back in St. Catharines, yells out, “Fly, my pretty! Fly!”